Be My Living Bride
by Mademoiselle-Eclair
Summary: Dark Leroux 4shot Erik has captured Christine and offers to let her go provided she becomes his living bride for one night No fluff,summary inside
1. Part the First

**disclaimer:** I don't own any part of Phantom of the Opera, except this story.

**Little Sultina's note: **Though not for the completely fluffy hearted, this four-shot explores Erik's darker side, as he offers Christine her freedom as long as she consents to be his living bride in every sense of the meaning for one night... Leroux based. Enjoy, and please review!

**Be My Living Bride - Part the First**

Erik's POV

She is standing there in front of me, her long blonde hair is flowing down her back; kissing her bare shoulders and the tops of her creamy breasts; exposed by the low cut of her dress. She is still crying, crying with despair. She despairs because she knows that there is no way out, she is trapped in my underground home; her lover and the Persian safely looked away in the torture chamber.

Although I will try and pretend to Christine that love her, I know that in my heart I don't. I did once, but she has betrayed me too many times now from my love to burn for her. The only feeling that burns in my body for her is lust. Fiery, all consuming lust that pushes me to the boundaries of sanity and beyond.

I am many things. I mad man, some say. A criminal according to others. A disgusting corpse they all agree. There once was a time when words like those would bother me, anger me, maybe even upset me. But such a time has indeed passed, and after all that has been said about me, I am beyond caring.

I could be a gentle, kind, caring man that entreated every aspect of his wife's happiness, that made her feel like a queen of many lands. I would have been prepared to do anything for Christine, had she consented to be my own. I would have given up all that is dear to me for her sake, and asked for no more than a soft, loving kiss and a friendly smile in return. I wouldn't have even requested her to lie with me, for no woman could possibly do such a thing as that.

I would have forgiven all of Christine's previous sins and been her eternally faithful dog, forever waiting at her feet. But I am growing older now, and I do not have forever to wait for her; my clock is running down and it is time for me to reap some sort of benefit from all the years that I have spent on Earth.

I loved her so very much, and planned to make her return my feeling naturally; until two nights past as I crept by the dressing room. I loved to sneak in there, in the dead of night to gaze over her sleeping body and place a soft kiss on her hand, or maybe even her forehead. But this night, as I crept in I saw something different from usual; she was indeed asleep, but their was another figure by her side. The Viscompte.

He lay with his back towards the wall, his entire body protruding naked from the sheets; his hands wrapped around what I decided was my angel's waist, for I could not bare to think of them being any lower. Next to him lay Christine, her head turned towards him, her upper torso completely uncovered in all it's splendour.

I observed the two in a twisted form of morbid fascination, paying particular attention to Christine's breasts. They looked so very soft, their tips a rosy red and stiff in appearance. I felt tears of frustration mingling in my socket's, I had never allowed myself to even dream of Christine in such a way, for I deemed her to be of angelic purity. Yet, she had given herself to that boy, to whom she was barely engaged. She had allowed him to run his rancid hands over her body, over her curves and around her most intimate places; whilst I denied myself so much as the touch of her hand.

My endless patience had run out, I no longer loved this little **_whore_**, who gave herself as freely as possible. I loathed her, but I lusted for her more than I thought man could. I needed her, I wanted her. My body stirred for her, and I knew that I had to make her mine in the most physical sense of the word.

They say necessity breeds invention; and I suppose one could say that this was indeed the case.

Christine's POV

I am shaking, though I can not tell whether it is cold or fear that causes me as I am surrounded by so much of both. I recognised my territory from the moment I awoke from the drugged sleep what I am quite sure Erik put me in steal me off stage and drag me down here. It was, of course his house; five storeys beneath the Opera House, closer to hell than anywhere else in the world. I believe that I am in the drawing room, though it is much changed from when I saw it last. The flowers that once filled it are quite gone, and all that it left are a few pieces of antique furniture and a deathly silence.

Where is he? Where is Erik? Why has he left me here, dumped so very ungraciously in the corner? Has he abandoned me here? That is how it seems, for the fire is unlit and all the light I have comes from one small candle on the mantelpiece.

My head feels dizzy and clouded, (probably a sign that the drugs are wearing off), and I can't help noticing a large bruise on my wrist, which I could swear was not there during the performance. Surely Erik could not have imprinted it upon me? He has sworn to love me in the most tragic but true way possible. He sworn that no harm would come of me, so long as I remained loyal to him. Which, to his knowledge I have done perfectly well.

I tried to finish my relationship with the Raoul, but after hearing that he was to leave for the Artic in only a month's time, I decided to maintain it until the date of his departure. Oh and what fun we had together! We played at being engaged, up in the rafters of the opera house, laughing and giggling like children. We would see shows and take walks around the city, dine out and in the evenings I would be walked back to my dressing room.

Oh it was all such fun, and two day ago our budding romance climaxed in a passionate explosion of love. But whilst I lay beside my lover, our bodies weary from the pleasure they'd received, I was fearful that Erik would see. For I knew that he was a deeply unbalanced man, and the sight of me and Raoul would be sure to send him into an uncontrollable rage, and who could know what would follow?

The door is opening, there are stamping footsteps on the ground, there is a glimmer of light, a shape, a voice. The voice? Can it be? I'm certain that it can't. **_The _**voice was always calm and soothing, this voice in angry and harsh. It spits cruel words at me and I realise that this is indeed **_the_** voice, it's Erik's voice.

Bony hands, that smell like death and feel even worse are grabbing my hips; causing me to scream. A morbid hand flies to my lips, trapping my cries, and the arms quite literally drag me out of the room. I am in the dining room now, now the corridor, and now a room I have seen only once before. Erik's bedroom.

It is a terribly grand room, fitted like a tomb. In fact, Erik used to address the place with such a title. **_My tomb_** he used to say, pointing to the coffin placed in the centre of the room and then giving a broader gesture with his hands. But now Erik is saying nothing.

He releases his hand from my mouth, and removes his arms from my waist, shoving me roughly to the floor. He is lighting a candle, and another, and another; now the whole room is illuminated. Erik's body jerks around and stares straight at me, a menacing look on his monstrous face. His eyes are ablaze with fury and my heart is filled with fear. His hands grasp my own and they yank me upwards until I am standing upright.

Erik has never been so rough with me, he has always been so gentle and respectfully distant. He is now pacing up and down the room, his teeth clenched and his hands are rolled into tight fists. My heart beat grows faster and at last I find the strength to speak, and I ask him why I am here.

Erik has stopped quite still, and now he is approaching me, a smug smile on his face.

"Ah yes my little love," he sayings in a disgusting manner, his hands stroking my cheek.

"You see my darling, I am your Angel of Music, and you will always belong to me. Always." He hisses, causing me to cry out with fright.

He chuckles a terrible laugh and wraps his arms around my waist. He is so very close to me, I can feel his deathly cold breath on my neck.

"You may have given your body to that **_bastard_** but you will always be mine." He snarls, one hand running over my thankfully covered leg.

Fear is gripping me now that I can better understand his intentions. I want to run, but his embrace is too tight. He is everywhere, his hand on my leg, his arms on my hips, his breath in my face. The room is spinning and I want Raoul. I'm calling out his name as loudly as I can and Erik is laughing in the most unimaginably terrifying way.

"Oh cry for him now my dear, it will do you no good. He can not save you! He is here you see, in my torture chamber!…I don't think I've told you about that… I know I'll show you it." With that he throws me over his shoulder and carries me up a small staircase, to window. He is tracing my bare ankles with his thumb and he is dropping me on my feet and forcing me to look through the window.

I am looking through the window and can see my dear sweet Raoul, and a strangely tanned man whom I do not recognise. They are lying on the floor, their eyes glazed and their bodies motionless. He has killed them, that I am sure of, they are dead. Dead!

I'm screaming at Erik, yelling 'murderer' over and over, whilst Erik is chuckling.

"Yes my little love, a murderer I am; but these two excuses for men are not dead. They are merely… dehydrated and … mentally dishevelled…. but that will pass… I hope. For you see I am quite prepared to release the two of them….even your lover… I'll return you both home and I will stay away from you forever."

He has stopped talking and my heart is pumping so fast I fear it might burst, I have never known such terror. Despite the fear that he instils in me, I am inclined to believe the monster that is standing before me; all I want to know in that which I can see he is preparing to say.

"However, I am also quite prepared to murder the both of them. I will strangle them… or maybe shoot them if you prefer… I will destroy their corpses and leave you either to join them or make your own may home… through the maze of traps I have laid in these cellars. Is that quite clear?"

I seem to be nodding in understanding. I do not know how to respond to his twisted options, for he states them so blandly that my mind can not comprehend the full gravity of his words.

"It's your choice." He is saying.

"If they die, or if they go home. Their fate, and indeed yours is in your choice. One word: yes or no…. You see I have a preposition for you… one night… just for one night you are to become my wife … and you must fulfil **_every single_** wifely duty that I demand of you… Yes, and you stay with me for one night… then you, the Persian, and **_him_** will go home…. No, and they will both be slaughtered… and you… well I've already said that…"

He is silent now, and I have finally understood what he has said. I am either to be slave to his sexual desires; or I am to have my darling Raoul killed, along with that poor man. Erik may not even let me go… but if I sleep with him there is still no guarantee of Erik keeping his promise.

Erik is coming towards me, and his hand is travelling up my leg, under my skirt, It is going higher and higher, but now it has thankfully stopped on my thigh. He is smiling at me, and squeezing my flesh sending waves of unwanted impulses through my shaking body.

"I will wait in my bedroom, and you may have five minutes to consider your choice. If your answer is no… then remain where you are and watch your lover die… if you answer is yes… then you shall come to my bedroom, and take more than a few minutes in doing so….is that clear."

I am nodding my head. Erik is unimaginably clear.


	2. Part the Second

**Author's note: **Thanks for all the reviews, and just to warn you this chapter contains a nude Christine, and a very lustful Erik. I think you can guess the rest…

Be My Living Bride - Part the Second

Erik's POV

I am standing in my bedroom, waiting, wondering as to which option Christine will choose. It will be yes, I am sure of it. She will, even if it is only because of her love for that son-of-a-bitch; she will say 'yes'.

I will be fair with her and remain true to my word. One night, and then all three of them will go. I will not betray her… despite the fact that she has betrayed me so very much.

Three minutes have passed since I left her, sobbing like a wretch. Two more minutes, then she will be mine. I'm sure of it. However, I am unsure as to where we might conduct our 'full terms of agreement'. There will not be enough room in my coffin, and it seems too perverse, even for me, to have intercourse in my mother's bed. The sofa? The floor?

Only one minute is left now, and I can hear that Christine's crying has stopped. I am undeniably pleased by this, I do not want some mass of tears beneath me all night…

Thirty seconds now, my heart is pumping, my desire is growing inside my trousers. I am smiling to myself, finally I will no longer have to soften the bloody thing with my own deathly hand.

Five minutes has passed and there is silence. 'What if she has killed herself?' I am wondering. I can now hear footsteps coming towards my door. She is coming to me, to give herself to me. I walk backwards and smile. The doorknob is turning, and the door itself is opening. A foot in placed on the floor. She is here. She is walking in, her head is facing the floor. I can not have this. I have decided to speak.

"Look at me, and shut the door." I bark, hearing the hoarseness in my voice, brought on by my lust.

She is doing as she is told, and I am beckoning her towards me. She is coming. She is so very close to me. I wrap my hands around her waist, and allow my fingers to lightly stroke her bottom. She is turning her head away fro me, but I turn it back.

"You are my wife now Christine, you are mine and must do as I say. Or I will take your answer to be 'no', clear?" I am saying.

She is nodding, and I bring down my head to her shoulder and run my tongue along her collarbone and relish the sensation. My lips are running over her shoulders, sucking on her skin and flicking it with my tongue. Whilst I am doing this, I pick up one of her hands and place it on my erection.

"Pleasure me, as you pleasured **_him_**." I whisper in her ear.

She is an obedient child, and now I am moaning in ecstasy as she caresses me.

My hands are roaming around the back of her dress and ripping it right down the middle. I am now pulling it to the floor, as Christine slightly squeezes my manhood.

I am lowering my lips to the top of her breasts, licking them and nuzzling them lightly with my teeth. My hands are beginning to undo the ties of her corset. I am fumbling around with them to no avail, my patience has run out and I am pulling them out, and yanking the corset to the floor. I take a small step backward to admire her breasts. They aren't particularly large, nor are they exceptionally beautiful, but they are still mine to enjoy.

Christine's POV:

I am standing here, like a whore pleasuring a man whom she despises. His disgusting desire is thankfully cloaked with the heavy cotton of his trousers, but I am still forced to touch it, to feel it, to caress it and squeeze it. He has removed my dress in a most savage manner, and now my corset is gone too. I am standing here before him, allowing him to gape at my breasts, his erection hardening again in my hand.

Suddenly he is grabbing my breasts in his hands, he is lifting them up and down, in fascination. He is jiggling them about, watching how they move and bounce in his hands. This doesn't hurt me, but it gives me so very much discomfort, not least because he is now toying with nipples, running them through his fingers and tugging them slightly as he does so.

I have removed my hand from Erik's erection in the hope that he won't notice, but he grabs it back and thrusts it against his groin. He lowers his mouth to my ear and he begins to whisper into it. "Really now my little love, as my wife your first duty should be to make your husband happy, and I would so hate to have our marriage annulled before we have even consummated it."

He now, keeping one hand firmly on my breast, places the other on my exposed garter, which is holding up my stockings and supporting my underwear. His hand is rubbing my thigh in quick circles, causing the unwanted dampness in my vagina to increase.

I though now occurs to me, Erik is incredibly easy to fool. He pretends to be wise and ahead of your every move, but he is incredibly emotionally insecure, and this is something I will take advantage of. I have convinced him that I love him before, why can I not do it now? He is to rape me anyway, why not make it appear consensual? Yes, I will fool him, but I must be clever about it.

Erik's POV:

My fingers are massaging Christine's leg in an attempt to arouse her, after all I wife that I can not enjoy is of no use to me. With my left hand continuing to feel her chest, I am moving my right further up her leg to the fabric of her pale pink knickers. I allow my forefinger to gently stroke the flesh beneath them, and as I do so Christine releases a moan of pleasure. At last she is succumbing to me.

"Do you like that my dear?" I whisper in her ear as I continue to softly rub her covered flesh with my finger.

She is moaning again and replying to me. "Oh yes- yes - oh Erik - oh my." She sighs between gasps.

Her grasp is tightening around my erection, and I remove her hand. I do not want there to be nothing left before I have even begun! Her lips are on my neck now, my fingers on my jacket, my waistcoat, my cravat, my shirt and finally; my bare chest. My fingers explore my expose skin, her fingers toy with my nipples as I did with hers. I am moaning in ecstasy.

She is agreeing with my proposal, not in words but in actions! With every kiss on my chest she is consenting to be my wife. With every moan upon my touch, she is begging me to take her. I will not deny her, but I will make her wait. Punishment for betraying me to that boy…

Christine's POV:

It appears that all my acting lessons have paid off, for Erik certainly seems fooled by me, even I am confused to whether I am acting or not. I feel disgusted with myself as I fake a gasp as Erik slowly removes my stockings. How have I reduced myself to this? A harlot, convincing a man that he brings her pleasure. I feel shame burning inside me as I kiss his bare chest, tinged a terrible yellow, but at least my hands are free to roam Erik's back rather than masturbate him.

I am beginning to notice that Erik is slowing his movements, his rubs and tugs becoming calmer and softer. From that little taste which I have had of sex I know that this shouldn't be happening. I must try to quicken his pace, the sooner this is over, the sooner I will be safely back in my dressing room with Raoul.

I move my hands to the sides of Erik's legs, intent on making his blood race faster. I tightly squeeze his thin thighs beneath his trousers, lower my mouth to his torso, and begin running my tongue over his barely existent stomach.

"Don't stop Erik," I moan into his gut, using the most aroused voice I can muster.

"Please, don't stop." I beg, and he finally allows himself to 'enjoy me' once more.

Suddenly, I am being hoisted off the ground and into Erik's arms, only this time his embrace is hot and lustful rather than detached and angry. My body is facing his and my legs are wrapped around his waist as he carries me out of his bedroom. I nearly cry out in shock as he places me against one of the walls in his corridor, and rubs his groin against mine. But thankfully I remember my plan.

Erik's POV:

I could take it no longer, Christine is against a wall, down to her final item of clothing, moaning as I rub against her. I know that I intended to make her wait, to torture her; but she begged me to make love to her. **_Begged_** me.

She is raising her head and running her tongue down the side of my death's head. She is whispering in my ear, as her hands squeeze my buttocks.

"Take me Erik…. Take me…." she utters

"Here?" I ask quizzically as I silently curse myself for caring.

"Lying down Erik… I want you to see me, me to see you… I can see nothing of you like this."

There is something in her voice that makes me unable to contain myself, and forgetting all my previous thoughts I carry my bride into the other bedroom, release her and lie down on my mother's bed.

I lie down and am propping my neck and head with pillows. Christine is standing before me, those wretched underpants are her last remaining item of clothing.

"Remove them," I command, as I struggle to stop myself from pouncing upon her. Her hands move to the fabric, and as she seductively licks her lips, she begins obey my order. My heart is pumping and I know that soon she will be mine.

Christine's POV:

I am slowly removing my last remaining barrier between this monster and myself. I am trying to avoid looking at his facial expression, as I do so, and finally I am standing naked before him. I want to run, to escape, to find Raoul. Raoul! Oh how I want you to come and save me, but I know that you can't. That I have to save you first.

That is what I am doing Raoul, saving you. Saving you as I tell Erik that I love him. Saving you as I lie on top of him and kiss his deformed lips. Saving you as I allow him to run his tongue over my mouth, my chest, my everywhere. Saving you my dear. That I what we must both believe.

Admit a jostle of kisses, touches, moans and sweet nothings I have found myself lying beneath Erik, passionately licking his neck as I remove his trousers to reveal his erection, which is now lying, hot and hard against my stomach. The terrible monster who is poised above me is pulling my legs apart, and he quickly puts one of his fingers inside me, and removes it to see how aroused I am.

"I am ready for you Erik! Take me as your bride! Make me yours!" I yell in a marvellously fake tone of desire.

I am grabbing onto the monster's shoulders, and I can feel his erection jump against my inner thigh. Thrust! Thump! Moan! He is inside me, moving faster and faster, up and down. His hips grind against my own, as I hold back the tears that are welling in my eyes. Silently I begin to pray to God that I will give him the satisfaction he wants, and this nightmare will finish.


	3. Part the Third

**Important Author's Note: **This chapter contains strong language and sexual violence. Don't say I didn't warn you. I know that I said this was a three-parter but I lied. One more chapter to go. Also, this chapter portrays Erik in a particularly wicked light. Although, we all prefer a soft as butter Erik, I feel the character shown in this story would probably be more realistic. Also, I'd like to thank everyone for their kind reviews: Thanks You.

Be My Living Bride - Part the Third

Erik's POV:

My heart is beating faster than I knew it could. My lungs are gasping for air. My throat is hoarse from the sounds it has produced. My body is exhausted and just wants to lie still and enjoy the amazing feeling running through it.

I am lying on the bed, facing the ceiling, holding Christine close to my perspire covered chest. I can hardly believe it, Christine loves me. She has proved her love, for she has had intercourse with me in the most loving way she could. She told me that she loved me, she kissed every inch of my body, she cried out my name as I thrust into her, she swore herself to me as she climaxed and now she is beside me; staring into my eyes.

"I love you," I whisper into her ear, and now I am placing a soft kiss upon her brow.

I have forgiven her all her wrongs, for she truly loves me now. She doesn't want that boy, she doesn't want the opera house; she wants me, and my little house where we can be alone together. She wants to stay here and have me fuss about her. She wants me to sing to her, talk to her and make love to her. She doesn't want the boy to live, for she loves me and despises _**him** _for taking her virginity. I won't rescue him, I will leave him; and together with the Persian he will roast alive, or maybe even take his life as so many have done before him.

Yes, I will leave the pair to die as I rest with **_my_** living bride; and in the morning I will remove their corpses and find a way to dispose of them. But that shan't worry me now. Instead, I am pulling my **_wife_** closer, and resting my head on hers as we fall asleep together.

Christine's POV:

I feel sick. I want to run to the bathroom and vomit out the entire evening. I want to scrub every last trace of that **_thing _**off me. I have shut my eyes, and am pretending to sleep whilst trying to work out a plan to escape. When will he release Raoul? When will he say that I can put my dress back on and scurry off, like a prostitute in the early morning light? When will he remove his hands from my waist and let me leave? Will he ever let me go, or will I be kept here as a slave to his twisted desires for all eternity?

I have laid here for about an hour now, and Erik is softly snoring in my ear. He has loosened his grip on me and I have decided that now is the time for me to escape.

Slowly, I am wriggling free of his hold and out of the bed. I tip-toe silently down the corridor, back to Erik's bedroom. I am grabbing for my dress and hastily pulling it over my head, not bothering with my corset. My dress itself is torn down the back, but I don't care. I will leave this place naked if I have to. I am running down the corridor towards the staircase that leads up to that little room. I am being as silent as I can, but I fear that my heavy breath may be betraying me.

I am running up the staircase now, and all I can think about is Raoul. Oh how I love him, I would give anything to see him safe; and I have. I hope he will understand why I allowed myself to be violated by that monster. I'm sure he will, for he loves me. I know he does.

Finally, I have reached the landing and that evil little window is only inches away. I am running towards it, not caring what I might see. I am by it now, and looking through it, not daring to believe what I can see. Nothing. Well, nothing human. I can see a tree, and a rope but no people. In fact, other than Raoul's top hat, left in the corner; there is no trace of there ever being a soul in there.

My mind is racing. What has Erik done with them? Did I fall asleep and give him a chance to kill my love and that other poor fellow? Did he create some clever trap where by he could drop the pair into oblivion? Where they even there, or did I imagine my fiancé lying on the floor? What if he was there, but already dead?

Suddenly I can see the truth : I have been tricked.

Erik's POV:

I have awoken from my slumber, quite possibly the best I have ever had and my hands are groping about the bed in search of my brides pale flesh. I want to find her hand and bestow a million kisses on its palm. I want to whisper how much I love her into her ear, I want to her to whisper back to me. I want our mouths to fuse together and our body to join in the same force in passion that they did last night.

But my hand can find no trance of her presence in the bed, other than the folds in the sheets from where she lay.

I am opening my eyes and looking around. There in no one in the room other than myself, and if it wasn't for the sight of her panties lying at the bottom of my bed; I could swear that the night before had been a mere dream. Slowly I am moving towards my door, pulling on my trousers as I go.

"Christine" I am calling softly

"Christine my darling, where are you?" I coo.

My mind is beginning to race, where is she? Is she in the bathroom freshening up? In the kitchen preparing a little breakfast? I am trying to delude myself that she is in either of those places, and not, as I fear; searching for her former lover.

Suddenly I stop and stand still, listening for any signs of life. All is silent, save the creak of a step from the only flight of stairs in my house. She is by the torture chamber, and that is where I am now running to.

I am at the bottom of the stairs leading to the torture chamber, and I can see my bride at the top. She is beating frantically on the glass window pane as she struggles to hold onto her ruined dress. She is so consumed in here task that she doesn't see me climb the stairs. She doesn't feel the tips of my fingers on her neck. She doesn't notice my breath flow against her ear lobe. She doesn't even know I'm there.

My hands suddenly grab for Christine's neck, spinning her around, and pushing her back against the boiling hot wall. Her face is flushed red, her cheeks stained with tears and her eyes wide in shock.

"Pining for your lover?" I hiss.

I receive no answer, just a frantic fit of struggles, forcing me to pin her against the wall using my own form. I can feel her groin sandwiched against my own, her trembling legs knocking my knees, her barely covered breasts frantically rising and falling against my chest.

My fingers are creeping towards the top of the dress and moving the peel away the fabric from her breasts.

"No!" my little lying whore shouts suddenly, trying to kick me with her legs.

"No?" I retort, mimicking her high pitched voice. "Funny, remember how you begged for me last night? Begged me to fuck you like the little harlot you are!"

"Oh my little slut, it seems that you are indeed no more that a common whore trying to creep off in the deep of night to find another customer" I snarl.

I feel moisture on my forehead; the bitch has spat at me.

Christine's POV:

I had to spit at him, how could I not? He had kidnapped me, imprisoned my one true love, held me against me will, raped me, done away with Raoul, and now he had called me a whore. If there was a blade in my hand I would stab him.

But now I can tell my the anger growing in those flaming embers that I will regret my actions. His face, his hideous face is pushed against mine, his deathly breath covering my face.

"Ah, trying to fight back are we?" he spits, thrusting his groin against my own as he rips away my dress. I let out a gasp of shock, and I am desperately trying to fight back, wriggling against the monsters body, but I am too weak.

His mouth is forcing itself onto mine for a repulsive 'kiss', his teeth biting my lips until a drop of blood falls down my face. Suddenly I am being released from Erik's grasp, only to be flung face forward to the floor.

All I can see is the ground, but I can hear his menacing voice all around me.

"You little whore. That's all you are. Well, if you are nothing more than a worthless slut, then I will treat you like one!" Erik is yelling in fury. A searing pain runs through my body as he slaps my backside with his hand, releasing a sadistic laugh as he does so.

My heart is beating so fast I fear that it will leap from my body, my muscles are automatically clenching, and tears are freely streaming down my face; in anticipation of an unknown fate.

"Is it cold down there on that stone floor?" the beast is demanding.

I release a tremendous sob, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Answer me you whore!" he shrieks at me.

"Yes!" I am screaming "It's freezing" I shout, in utter truthfulness.

"Good," he is whispering and now he is adding to his words, in a whisper that scares me more that his rage; "I dare say you'll crave this cool when you are in the pits of hell."

Although I do not know what the monster means, I am screaming none the less. I can hear the sound of fabric ripping and I can feel his cold flesh, his burning, perverted desire hit the back of my body.

I can feel his horrible erection against my buttocks, a painful burning sensation inside me, and a thrusting against back.

It is only now that my bewildered mind and shattered soul understands the utterly heinous fate that the man who was once my Angel of Music is bestowing upon me.

Now, it is the pits of hell do not seem so very terrible.


	4. Part the Forth

**Little Sultina's Note: **Here's the last instalment of 'Be My Living Bride'. Thanks for all your kind reviews, they have meant a lot to me and thank you for not abandoning my story after I have deserted it for so long. **The second half of this chapter moves quite quickly, so pay attention and skim read at your peril. **Again, thank you for all your feedback and response to my story, what more can I say? **_Enjoy. _**

Erik's POV:

My heart is pounding as rage tears through my body; from my death's head to be raging erection; though it is not raging with lust as much as it is raging with hatred. Hatred for my parents, my gypsy show-master, all the millions who have mocked me and terrorised me, hatred for the world; hatred for Christine.

Ignoring her pathetic whines, I am continuing to push myself further and further into that tight little space. I am not doing this for pleasure, although the feeling that are beginning to swell from tip are those of that particular emotion. No, I am doing this to prove a point; that no matter how much the world has abused me and degraded me, me matter how much I have been betrayed and mocked: I will never be beaten.

My body is shaking as it becomes more and more intoxicated by the power that is running through it. My breath is becoming more and more raged as I reach the climax of my actions, causing waves of nauseating pleasure to course through my corpse of a body.

It is only now that I begin to think of the boy; who must be lying dead on the floor of the torture chamber, the Daroga's corpse somewhere beside him. I wonder how long it took them to meet their ends? Was it painful? Terrible? _Torturous_? I hope it was. I hope it was quite horrible. I hope they suffered as much I have suffered, shut away in this underground realm of death, guarded by my very own River Styx.

I hope Christine is suffering now. I hope she wishes she were dead. I hope she hates me with all her might; for only then will she be able to grasp some of the hate that I currently feel towards her.

My body is retracting itself from that of the poisonous demon lying before me, and suddenly I can feel that aching sensation in the pit of my soul. What am I to do now?

Raoul's POV:

Where am I? What is going on? How is it possible? For the past few days I have been lost in a tropical jungle, similar to the sort found in the Asian Subcontinent. I thought that my travelling companion and I would die of thirst, as we seemed to have lost our knapsacks; either that or we'd be killed by the lions I could hear in the distance.

The Persian was sent half made by the intense heat, and started blathering on about mirrors and trap doors; and then, and then - the trees opened. There was a door in the space where a thick expanse of wood had been, a door that lead on to a dark space, emitting wondrous lashings of frozen air.

Lost in my sheer amazement at discovering a door in a forest, I followed the Persian through it, leaving my hat behind as he instructed to. The door lead to what appears to be a cellar, filled with a great deal of thick, oak barrels. Fancy, a cellar in an equatorial jungle!

That is where I am now, following the Persian as he darts frantically about the place, his face flushed and his body shaking. He is yelling something about finding a staircase or a door, or some such nonsense, Really, the jungle has sent him half mad, the poor chap! I want to stop and see if I can find a stream of some sort where I can take a drink or refresh my burning skin. Surely, with the coolness and dampness in the air, there must be a exotic little river or waterfall somewhere?

Still, the Persian persists in his crazed quest for another door; really he is rather mad, the unfortunate fellow! But yet, as he releases a half hysterical laugh he has found what he was looking for; a door with a pale source of light at the end of it. Maybe he has found a door leading to another part of the forest?

Along we go, along we go; along a stone passageway, the light growing gradually brighter. Now it is so bright, that I can make out shapes in it, an armchair, a bookcase, an unlit fireplace, a burning candle …in a jungle? The Persian is saying something about a house, a monster's house …Erik …Christine …he mutters, the words stirring an invisible memory at the back of my mind. Perhaps, they were characters I read in a book as a child?

Now we appear to be in a room. An old-fashioned, but smartly furnished drawing room, with a weak light burning in front of a frequently used, but currently abandoned hath. On the mantel piece lies a collection of oddities; an ostrich egg and two beautiful ebony boxes. What a quaint place! Perhaps good fortune has allowed us to stumble upon the colonial residence of a European explorer? Yet the Persian still won't be content!

I'm lowering myself into the luxurious armchair, allowing my weary body to absorb some of the pure pleasure that its soft upholstery brings. But the Persian will not allow me to, he is grabbing for my hand and dragging me up and toward a shiny, mahogany door, shouting something about that 'Erik' and 'Christine'.

He is turning the heavy brass door handle, and pulling me into another room, and another and then… and then, there's a small staircase, it's made from coarse stone and contrasts horribly with the rest of the house. At the top of it there's a window, and …and two people ….Erik and Christine ….and they're ….I can feel the colour draining from my face, as the poor Persian emits a gasp of horror and collapses on the floor.

Christine's POV:

Raoul? Raoul! Can it really be him standing at the foot of the staircase, an unidentifiable body beside him? His face is horribly pale, and smothered in sweat; his golden locks are messy and his immaculate opera suit is terribly dishevelled. But it is him, I swear it!

Oh my poor, poor Raoul, the look of astonishment and slow, painful realisation on your face is so terrible I can no longer stand to look at it. What must you think my dear sweet Raoul? Your little playfellow lying naked on the floor, tears streaming down her bruised face; a demon standing over her.

"Get away from her," Raoul is shouting, his voice trembling with a mixture of confusion, uncertainty and repulsion.

I can hear a snort of laughter from behind me, and I can see Erik walking away from me, pulling on his up his trousers; his eyes never leaving my precious Raoul.

"Well, aren't you the knight in shining armour, coming to rescue his damsel in distress; how very noble of you!" , the monster is saying in a tone filled with indescribable hatred.

"I see you survived your little trip to the jungle, unlike the Daroga …what a pity I have to greet you with such terrible news," Erik continues, his voice becoming higher and higher pitched, as he slowly saunters towards my trembling fiancée.

"Unfortunately, despite your brave efforts, your little adventure has been utterly futile. For now, that Erik's secrets have ceased to be Erik's secrets, I am afraid I must kill you"

"NO!" I am screaming as the monster throws Raoul against the wall, his disgusting hands closing around his neck.

Raoul, is opening his mouth to speak, but the demon tightens his grasp around my lovers' neck, causing him to gag for air. How can he do this? How can he simply murder my poor Raoul, well I shan't let him, and that is why I am pulling the remnants of my dress over me and rushing over to where it seems a devil and an angel are standing .

"'No' my dear little whore?", the beast is jesting, mimicking my voice with uncanny ability. His terrible body is trembling nearly as much as my own, and his horrific lips are twitching as they speak, his tarnished talons digging harder and harder into my poor Raoul's neck all the while.

"Would you rather I didn't kill this pitiful excuse for a man? Well my sweet, I'm afraid I don't give a fuck as to what you would rather! Why should I? You have never cared an ounce for my wishes or feeling! I may be a devil now, but if I am it is only because you have made me so. So this ….this is really all your fault! Yes! **Your **fault!", he laughs, his body shaking with each fresh burst of manic emotion.

He is tightening his pythonic hold on my lovers' neck, producing an unbearable splutter and gasp from his victim as he does so.

Now there are words! Terrible words, almost as hideous as the creature who utters them are filling the room. They are hoarse and broken, tainted with tears and stained with black, bitter emotions that stab me in places that I can not shield.

"I loved you Christine! I loved you as no woman has ever been loved before! I adored you and cherished you above all things!" They explode menacingly.

"All I asked from you was a kind word and a little companionship and in return I would be your willing slave, reducing myself a dog, undeserving of your ownership. But what did you do? You took advantage of me, used me and above all things deceived me. But I still loved you, yet now my dear do not worry yourself by fearing my pure love; for now I hate you with every ounce of my soul!"

My face is red with feeling, as it absorbs a twisted mixture of emotions. Anger, pity, hatred, sorrow, compassion, fury, understanding, rage and guilt are flying around me, filling me with fear and confusion.

All I can see is the dying face of my darling Raoul, rasping and retching in a desperate plea for oxygen. I can see the skeletal bones pressing in on his aristocratic skin, I can see the tears of sorrow and hatred pouring down the disgusting death's head to whom they belong, I can see the grim reaper fast approaching my sweetheart; yet I do not do anything to stop the sequence of events that are unfurling before me.

I am fixed in my position, without the ability to move a muscle in my body. I do not shout, nor do I try and intervene as Raoul is finally stripped of his life. I do not cry nor fight as his lifeless corpse is dropped to the floor. I do not turn as Erik approaches me, hot tears gushing from his black sockets, his yellow tinged skin flushed red. I do not. I can not. No physical force could have restrained me better than my own personal paralysis, created from a perverse mixture of confusion and understanding.

Erik is standing directly before me, his hands clenched into tight fists, his corpse like body utterly rigid, his an expression of all consuming anguish covering his death's head.

"I hate you," he states plainly, a slight twitch at the corners of his lips the only betrayal of the true emotions behind his blank façade.

Erik's words, sharp and painful as they are intended to be, have no effect on me. For I too, have become an emotionless, meaningless mess, standing here, allowing my dress to fall off my body. All of my thoughts and feelings have escaped from me, and my senses are no more. I am nothing more than a static object, a block of material that shall never live again.

Over Erik's shoulder I can see the seeming lifeless lump, that I have previously ignored stirring. Gradually, the lump is lifting itself up, just a little but enough for it to rest on its left arm whilst the right stretches round, allowing its hand to fumble in a deep coat pocket. Silently and with sudden agility, it grabs for something, whips it out, holds it tight, and squeezes the trigger.

There is a sudden bang, an expression of shook appears on the death's head, before its frame falls backwards onto the hard floor, as blood slowly streams from the wound at the back of his head. There are no last words, no cries or screams, there is a weak gasp, followed by silence, then that macabre sound of death, squelching out into the room.

I can hear a soft sigh coming from the lump, who I presume is the Persian, as he collapses back on the floor; his aged body caving in on itself. I do not bother myself with trying to comfort the man as he drifts into eternal life, nor do I blink as he finally departs, leaving his body, drenched with heat and deprived of life; lying on the floor.

Internally, I am as dead as those bodies, and in a few days when my weak form has burned itself out as it tries pointlessly to find a way out of his hellish prison, I will resemble those corpses externally too.

That is the irony. I chose 'yes', and yet death is still lurking beside me, waiting to claim me. Starvation and madness, that is all there is for me now. But why must I let it be that way? I am pulling myself off the ground, and walking down the steps in large, confident strides with my head held high. There are no rules. There are no boundaries. I have nothing to fear now.

I am approaching the Persian, my eyes never straying towards Raoul, for he is dead and gone. The Raoul I loved shall never live again, all that is left is a meaningless lump of flesh. As for my Angel of Music, did he ever truly exist? I do not bother to look at his decaying body, for if he ever existed, he does not now.

I am bending down and carefully lifting the revolver from the lifeless hand of its owner, and tightly grasping it in my own. I am not nervous nor am I scared. I am void of feeling. My skin doesn't quiver as I push the cold barrel against my temple, my fingers don't shake as they press down upon the trigger. All I am doing is thinking of the stretch of eternity that awaits me and now……..nothing.


End file.
